Ficlets
by NoOriginalityHereMoveAlong
Summary: Summary: several drabbles themed to quotes. Pairing: Miranda/Andy.


******Disclaimer: **None of these characters are mine. **  
****Author's Note:** Similar to the iTunes Meme, a handful of drabbles written to some random quotes. These are available to a good home should anyone desire to claim them.

* * *

**"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." – **Dr Seuss

* * *

"I'm impressed. You are handling this rather well, Six. Here I am riding to the rescue with mimosas and _Casablanca_ and you are," waving his hand up and down, Nigel gave her a searching glance, "well… dressed."

"Did you expect me to greet you naked?"

"No. But I've seen you in your sweats before. And that was on a good day. Where are the red-rimmed eyes and the Chocolate Macadamia stains?"

"I prefer Fairly Nuts."

"Unquestionably. But really," depositing the brown bag on the kitchen counter, Nigel unwound the scarf from around his throat, gingerly hanging it on a rusty hook. "How are you?"

"I–I'm not sure. It's still - I don't know, it seems surreal somehow."

"Well, Six," Andy found her hands cradled within slightly larger palms, "Take it from someone who's been around the block… it's like that every time. Because when it's not," giving her a final squeeze, he tapped her playfully on the nose, "well, then you know it never mattered."

Moving to the refrigerator, he froze momentarily, eyes lingering on a photograph pinned front and centre. "Did you take this?"

"Yeah. Three months ago, in Central Park."

Wistfulness softening his tone, he whispered, "I don't think I ever saw her like this. I guess none of us did." Briefly brushing his fingertip over the image, he shrugged self-consciously. "Sorry. I guess I'm not helping. You know a shrink would probably tell you to take it down. Moving on and all that..."

"Nah," it was Andy's turn to shrug, fingers worming themselves into the pockets of her jeans, "I like it there. I want to remember what I had."

* * *

**"Animals are such agreeable friends - they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms." – **George Eliot

* * *

The smell of whisky permeated the room, uncapped decanter resting in the middle of the desk. Three fingers of Scotch sat in a glass, seemingly untouched save for the faintest of lines which rimmed the inside of the crystal just above the liquid. On closer inspection, a faded smudge decorated the rim; perhaps the biggest surprise for anyone who cared to examine it the lack of colour in the smear.

The self-imposed darkness of the corner masked the occupant as much as light had ever done; her shape barely discernable in amongst the other objects. Tucked up against the wall in a defensive crouch, her arms clenched around her knees, an impenetrable wall designed to protect and stifle. Body taut and trembling, her gut wrenching sobs shattered the quiet of the house. Clenched tightly in one hand was an A4 piece of paper, sodden and crumpled now, but bearing the same typed words _I quit_. _That's all._

"Woof." An equally wet nose nudged her hand, immeasurably gently for a creature weighing more than she did. "Woof." Somehow the second quieter bark took on a different tone, almost as if Patricia had ascertained she needed to change tact. A delicate lick bathed her knuckles before a long drawn-out huff ruffled her hair, a moment later a solid shape settling down beside her.

Relaxing her arms a fraction, she stared at the soulful brown eyes that greeted her. Watching her in turn, the St Bernard lolled out her tongue, panting a little slobber, and delicately stretched her paw to rest over Miranda's bare foot.

"Come here."

Before she could so much as move a muscle, Patricia instantly positioned her head in Miranda's lap, somehow forcing her head through the smallest gap between her thigh and arm. "You are the only one that's always accepted me for who I am." Her watery chuckle caught on a sob, fingers tightening in Patricia's fur reflexively.

In answer, the St Bernard only burrowed closer.

* * *

**"Every man feels instinctively that all the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action."** – James Lowell

* * *

Rubbing her aching head, Miranda swipes the keycard just as a smooth baritone voice whispers behind her, "_Bella_, a beautiful woman should never go to bed alone."

"Signor Agustino." Clenching her teeth only increases the pounding headache. "We have all had an extremely tiring night. I am certain you, as I, will be attending a myriad of shows tomorrow. You would be wise to retire to your own room, even if only for an hour." _Before you topple like a flower under a late spring frost._

"_Bella_." At her quelling look he hastily switches to, "Signora Priestly. But you have captured my heart. As the sun rises outside, so does my love for you. Please… you cannot deny me a place in paradise."

"James Cross. Born in Brooklyn. 1975. Cut the accent and cut the crap. Your work is solid but not spectacular. Your contribution to the fashion industry will not be missed."

"You wouldn't…?"

"If you have to ask then I'd suggest your next two hours would be better spent on research, Mr Cross."

"This stays between us."

"For now. One day I will expect you to return the favour."

"Goodnight. Or what is left of it."

"I highly doubt it."

Pushing the handle of the door, she automatically squints in anticipation of the morning brightness. Seconds later she opens her eyes, astounded to see the heavy curtains firmly shut, the table lamp dimmed to its lowest setting. Crossing the room she sees the note pinned by the glass of water, beside it two capsules. Swallowing both, she drains the glass, her throat gratefully absorbing something other than champagne. Picking up the sheet of paper, she quickly scans the familiar scrawl,

_Miranda,_

_To help you sleep._

_I've moved the 8:30 with Fabio to 11, the 10 with James to 9 tomorrow (between Donatella and Galiano). They both looked utterly exhausted, and long story short, their assistants were grateful to reschedule. _

_I called Samantha. Cassidy got an A+ on her history test and Caroline got the lead in the school play. Just thought you'd want to know._

_Don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything._

_Andy._

Somewhere in the back of her head she rails at Andrea's presumption, harsh words immediately springing to the forefront of her mind. Finger hovering over the 'Call' button, it takes a second to realise what feels so strange. Even then, as if unsure she's still capable of it, she reaches hesitantly to feel her lips, recoiling almost instantly as they brush the upturned corners of her mouth. Lowering the phone back down, she lets her fingers caress the ink just momentarily.

Perhaps not now... she can always find cause to give the girl a dressing down later.

* * *

**"In the world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it."** – Oscar Wilde

* * *

She watched the flurries dance outside, individual flakes playfully alighting along the fir trees only to be whisked away a second later. With the light behind her, it took but just a squinting of the mind to imagine that she, too, was outside; that she, like them, was free. Inevitably, the very source which shone possibilities was the same light that stole them all away, reflecting as it did the one tree that stood out amongst the others, twinkling brightly under the weight of colourful baubles.

"Andrea."

Throwing one final longing glance at the escape which lay beyond the glass, she consciously smoothed out the wrinkle between the eyes, forced the corners of her lips to lift into a smile. Turning around, she murmured ruefully, "Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"I heard noises. I wasn't expecting you. I thought …?"

"I didn't go. You were right; it's just an… article. This is the only place that I should be on Christmas Day."

The smile in Miranda's eyes lit up the blue and just for tonight Andy allowed the door to open, the memories to filter through, for this to be enough again.

"Come up soon?"

"Of course." The dangling Blackberry felt awkward in her suddenly clumsy fingers.

A minute or an hour might have passed in silent introspection before she reached the obvious conclusion – no words could make things better. _I couldn't. _Her text is short yet anything but the phone, she clicked the switch, enveloping herself in darkness, and wearily began her climb to bed.


End file.
